They're Suffocating Together
by quickandevery
Summary: Anna shouldn't be doing this. She's got a husband, a son. A dog, too. All of it. But she's with her sister-in-law anyways. Elsanna.
1. Constant

We'll see where this goes. Part 1.

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><p>Anna shouldn't be doing this. She's got a husband, a son. A dog, too. All of it. But she's with her sister-in-law anyways. Down to the nitty-gritty details. She's a responsible woman. There's a hoard of other things that she should be doing right now. Gassing up her car, plotting out a list for the things she needs from the grocery store, washing her clothes in preparation for an impending workday. Normal people things. Things she's gotten so used to doing that she never considered anything else. Certainly not this. And certainly not this with <em>her<em>. Of all the people, it's _her_. H-e-r.

"What are you mumbling?"

Anna's head snaps up. She almost bites her tongue off with the motion (and staunchly ignores the thought of tongues altogether). "I wasn't mumbling anything."

Up perks a wreath of snarled blonde curls. From beneath a swath of unkempt bangs, Anna sees those damnable eyes. Terribly blue eyes that she wishes she could forget. She knows she can't. It's funny that she even wants to try.

Even funnier, though, is where they land.

Now, Anna's in a position she ought to be blushing at. It would have made sense to, anyways. But Anna's brain isn't really doing that whole "sensible" thing it usually does. The wires are crossed, the messages aren't getting received. Screwy stuff, to put it simply.

The weight of her torso is being held up by a raggedy ottoman. Her shoulders are squashed into the cushions of a plush leather couch that does not match the previously mentioned furniture. The space where one's legs would stretch out from couch to ottoman is where her back is, and the breeze she's getting against her bare skin is enough to make her shiver. It's in perspective now, isn't it? Her legs are hanging off the ottoman, and between her trembling thighs is a woman.

Yeah.

"From this position, I can't really hear that well," Elsa says, smirking up at her like she knows _exactly_ what she's doing. A sneaky hand is gently massaging the smooth skin of Anna's right thigh, but she just wants to slap it away. And then cry, because that's the type of functioning adult that she is.

"Anna." The hand snakes higher, teasing her flesh. She's trying not to whimper—really, she is—but she can't stand this. It's nothing less than she deserves, truly, but her body betrays her. It knows what it wants. It isn't confused. And she can't blame it, not really. She's at the complete and utter mercy of a beautiful woman. It makes sense that her hips draw downward (just a little), and it makes sense when compliant lips meet just where she needs them to.

For her body, at least. Not her head. Or her heart, for that matter.

"Elsa," she says, and it escapes her mouth with far more breath behind it than she intended. She's spiralling, chest rising up while fingers dig down. Elsa's diligent, praising gasps meet her ears and all she wants to do is stay right here. Here, with Elsa's sinful tongue and soft hands, so unlike her brother's—

And Anna's cringing, her mouth pulling back, trying to stop it. Trying to push away from Elsa, because all this woman does is confuse her and make her question all of the ideals she's held in high regard. But what's done is done, and that's no joke. She's arching again, muscles tensing within her back and legs, and somewhere along the way her calves got tugged over Elsa's shoulders as the other woman rose up.

Elsa draws back with slow, calculated movements. Her lips linger here, there, then mouth appreciatively at Anna's hipbone. "I love watching you," she says, and Anna believes her. Surprisingly, for all of their combined deceit, she trusts Elsa. She shouldn't, but she does.

She pulls Elsa atop her, loving in turn how they mesh, how they fit. There's a distinction between them, a clear end and beginning. She likes it. She doesn't have to question it or wonder. It's there because it's always been. It's there and it makes her regret everything.

"I should go." She should. She meets Elsa's mouth with a slow, uncaring kiss. Shouldn't she be going? "I should go."

Elsa's stroking Anna's face now, and her leg slides between Anna's parted ones. "You don't want to," she says, victory in her eyes and her lips and her touch. Anna squashes down an embarrassed moan. "Stay."

Anna thinks of her constants. Her husband, her son, her dog. The guilt is far less overpowering when she's so enveloped in Elsa's everything. It masks what she doesn't want to feel and she's horrified when she nods at Elsa's throat. "Okay."

Elsa kisses her because she can. Anna knows it. She knows that she's craved. It humbles her, terrifies her, emboldens her. She's been craved by this woman for as long as they've known each other, but that doesn't make it any less potent. It doesn't make it any less real when Elsa's hand slides downward (_again_) and pushes a finger into her (_again_).

With their chests pressed so closely, she can't squirm like she wants to. She can't isolate herself from this with Elsa bearing down on her. She's saying _look at me_ without meaning to. Or hell, maybe she is. Anna can't analyze much of anything when Elsa's finger is pumping within her just right.

Her arms wind around Elsa's back, hands grabbing at the other woman's ass, pulling their hips closer. She's stopped Elsa's hand between them, but she's thrusting her tongue into Elsa's mouth and doesn't really care all that much. "Fuck," Elsa says, their teeth clacking together with the movement of their hips.

Anna drops her hand lower, cupping Elsa's sex from behind. She grins at the muffled groan against her lips, snatching the sound away with her breath and tongue. It's turning her on, that she can admit quite freely. She loves Elsa's voice. Loves it in the heave of her chest and the resonance of her panting. Anna's fingers spread, and Elsa's melting against her, surrendering her body, surrendering herself.

"_Anna_."

She loves the sound of her name on those swollen lips, too.

She wants to say that she doesn't love Elsa, but can't. It would have been easy to take from someone you were sleeping with if you didn't feel for them. Easy to take the pleasure, to take the motion. And it would be easy to end, wouldn't it? But Anna can't help but love Elsa. She can't stop it when she swallows Elsa's whispered exultations, and she can't stop it when she runs her middle finger determinedly over Elsa's clit.

Elsa grips at her, dragging her lips across Anna's collarbone. A hand is at her breast, tweaking a nipple thoughtlessly, while the other moves to ensnare in Anna's bronze curls. Anna breathes deeply, trying to sort through the fog in her head. Elsa is everywhere; on her chest, in her mouth, on her _hand_. Anna's fingers are finding rhythm, finding completion. Elsa's riding her with fervor, and they're bouncing together and it's fucking _great_.

"I love you," Elsa says, and Anna rises up to crash their lips together. She doesn't have to say anything—Elsa already knows.

Elsa's spine straightens, her hands coming to rest at either side of Anna's head. Her head is bowed, and the rest of her is shaking. Anna's fingers slow, then stop, and she lazily pulls her hand back up, slowly, slowly tracing patterns along Elsa's tensed back. She counts the vertebrae of Elsa's spine, each finger pressing down on the tightened flesh over bone. It's intimate. She reaches Elsa's neck and cups it, bringing her down so that they're snugly pressed against one another.

She tries to remember her duties. She has a life outside of this. She does. She's playing a game she's not good at, and there's no winner at the end of it. She feels like the biggest contradiction in the world—the biggest liar—, because her lover's nuzzling her and it's definitely not her husband. She's fucking Elsa on the side (or getting fucked, really), and she has the gall to regret it and think of her family when she's had her fill.

"I have to go now," she says, and there's finality in her voice. Raw finality. Elsa presses their lips together almost chastely, then pulls away. Off her, standing in the center of this shitty apartment, naked and still deliciously wet.

Anna shuts her eyes. Her mouth opens, closes, and then she has the nerve to spew out, "When will I see you again?" Is there no lesson learned here?

Elsa's moving around, most likely gathering up their discarded clothing. "Olaf's birthday is in a week. We're celebrating at my parents', aren't we?"

Anna's mortified. Red-faced, shamed. She forgot her son's birthday.

"Yeah," she chokes. "Of course."

She sits up, disgusted with herself, and on some level, with Elsa. She wants to scream. Accuse Elsa of screwing with her head, of ruining her built-up life. But where's the fairness in that? Shouldering her own shame and inadequacy on Elsa because she can't deal with her problems? She made a choice somewhere along the line. She made the choice to put Elsa above her son—above her _husband_—, and it's eating at her gut like nothing she's ever felt before.

Elsa pulls on her work clothes (because they'd met up for a quickie), snapping her garments into place and smoothing the wrinkles down. She pushes Anna's clothes purposefully forward. "I'll see you then, Anna."

Anna gathers them in her arms, looking quite lost as she holds them to her chest. Elsa drops a sweet, delicate kiss to her forehead, and then she's heading toward the door. She glances back, beckoning Anna forth with a crooked finger. "I have to lock up after you. Hurry."

Anna dresses silently, her mind clogged and sluggish with the weight of her guilt and the simpering (_reverent_) kiss Elsa planted on her moments before. She's out the door quickly, plodding down the steps leading up to the apartment of whomever owns it. Elsa never mentioned it, and she hadn't thought to ask. _But do I really want to know who shelled out the key so that I could fuck my husband's sister without anyone knowing?_

She clambers into her car and peels out of the complex, not daring to look back. She loves Elsa, that she could say confidently, but that didn't mean she wanted to look at what she'd wrought. There's only so much she could take in a day, after all.

* * *

><p>"Mommy!"<p>

There's her boy, all wide smiles and exuberant hugs. He's got something on his face, and she's certain it's being wrung out all over her top as he buries his face against her stomach. She's kneeling, pressing him into her, smelling the top of his head, breathing him in. Her heart is hammering inside her ribcage, and all she can do is think about everything that she's forgotten. Her son is turning five and she forgot about it.

There are tears prickling at her eyes and she ignores them, instead pushing her son back slightly to kiss his cheeks, nose, mouth, and chin. "How's my baby, huh?"

He grins. "Awesome. I got all these cards in the mail, Mommy. Even one from Aunt Elsa!"

Anna grimaces. She's lucky Olaf isn't quite old enough to understand the expression (and even if he did, he doesn't have the capacity to ask _why)_. He's already off, his legs kicking behind him as he runs into the house to retrieve the cards he so desperately wanted to show her. She stands, brushing grass and dirt from her hosed legs, and waves to Kristoff. Her husband is standing in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He smiles gently at her, extending a hand.

She takes it, falling against his chest, holding him close. "I'm about to collapse," she says. His grip tightens around her (and it's not the same as Elsa's, and she isn't sure if she wants it to be or not). He's warm like always, and drops his chin on the top of her head.

"I can see that. I'll distract Olaf so you can relax for a bit, okay?"

She nods pitifully into his chest, but says nothing. She doesn't thank him. She should have been home early today anyway to tend to their son, but she was with Elsa. He was only doing what she should have been.

Kristoff nudges her through the door, extricating his body from hers. He bends down to pick up her belongings that she'd dropped to grapple with their excited son, and she suddenly despises herself. She's got a perfectly nice husband, and all she does is betray him. What's worse is that she betrays him with his own blood. With Elsa.

She's suddenly nauseous.

She turns without a word, shrugging into the kitchen, passing a doting hand over her son's wispy hair from his perch at the counter. She murmurs false cheer when he sorts out Elsa's card from the pile of others, his cry of "_ten dollars!_" shushed with a forced smile. She bypasses her husband when he enters the kitchen, her feet already dragging her toward the bedroom.

She falls onto the mattress with a groan, throwing an arm across her eyes.

She'll see Elsa in a week.

And she's anticipating it.


	2. Running

Part 2.

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><p>They're in Elsa's childhood bedroom this time. Anna tries not to think about it too much. It's easy, she supposes, to occupy her mind while she's going down on Elsa. She's got one hand entangled in freshly washed sheets (her mother-in-law's doing), the other wrapping securely around Elsa's lower back.<p>

Elsa's practically keening, voice rough and low like Anna's never heard before. And it's got her grinning, her mouth pulling at each edge as she submerges her tongue even farther in Elsa's cunt. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Nails are curling against her scalp, tugging hard on her hair. All she has in her is a growl of approval that sets itself deep in her throat, bursting in her chest. She's hot. So, so hot. It really shouldn't be fair that Elsa has the capability to do this to her. She's never been so turned on—so fucking on fire—and she wonders how that could be. Pent up affection—attraction—couldn't really be the cause for it, could it?

Her jaw's getting tired. She employs two fingers.

"_Christ_, Anna."

Elsa's writhing, moaning for her, holding her closer. Pale thighs squeeze either side of her head, the need apparent. Elsa's looking for friction. The nails pull harder.

Anna flattens her tongue and drags it upward, and that's really all it takes.

She thinks about all the noise Elsa is making. Those gasps only make her rub her legs together, trying to find some sort of release. She wishes Elsa wasn't so infuriatingly giving in bed. She doesn't deserve that sort of completion. Not in Elsa's old bedroom, not while the others are away. Not at all.

She tries to detach her brain from the rest of her and take what's so willingly offered. It's maddeningly simple, in retrospect, because this dark sort of pleasure (_secret, secrets_) doesn't have any inhibitions. It doesn't have prejudice over whom it's given to. It's just there in the flick of Elsa's tongue or the bend of her fingers. She's drowning in it; that mouth, those eyes, each dimple. She can't escape it.

She crawls on top of Elsa, straddling slim hips. Her hands trace tapered contours, map out patchy freckles. "Why do you want me?"

She shouldn't ask. It'll just drag her deeper and deeper. Her heart knows that it's not a good idea, as does her brain, but the words come without thought. She's got a knack for word vomit at incorrect times, and even more so when Elsa's gently probing her entrance with a single finger.

Elsa looks contemplative, her eyelids drooping. She's as alluring as ever, but when she's beneath Anna, it's tenfold. She chose to be there. Anna can't even consider all the times she'd wished for this exact situation. What a inopportune, disgusting situation _this_ was.

"I've always wanted you," Elsa says. Her hands come to rest on Anna's hips. "I didn't know it when I first met you. Not in that way, anyways. Just that you were… something out of reach. I couldn't have you."

Anna quirks a brow. "Really? I was unobtainable? That's what you're going with?" She feels a little bit disappointed. It's pretty ridiculous, though. She's disappointed that the woman she's having an affair with (sister-in-law alert) didn't pine for her in some obscure, romantic manner? What a load of shit.

"I wouldn't say you're unobtainable," Elsa replies smoothly. "You're here now, aren't you? What I meant was that I've always wanted you in this way." She runs her knuckle pointedly across Anna's clit. Anna tries not to groan. "I can assure you that I've always wanted to fuck you, I just never thought that I'd love you."

Elsa lifts herself up slightly, capturing Anna's mouth in a slow, melting kiss. "And I'm not allowed to love you." Elsa's tongue is in Anna's mouth, lips sucking. "Aren't I?"

"But you do," Anna gasps, "you _are_."

What a poisonous answer. She thinks of Kristoff and his kind eyes and wants to scream. Elsa's holding her close, that one fucking hand still between Anna's legs. Elsa looks at her, and Anna's got to wonder if she knows. _I'm with you and I'm bound to him. I chose both. God, I chose both._

"Do you love me?" Elsa asks, demure. Crooked brows, flushed face. Anna's falling for her all over again. "Do you?"

She can't speak. Her tongue's a lump in her mouth and Elsa's slowly applying pressure to her clit like it's no big deal. She's beginning to rock her hips, trying to find a rhythm out of the ungodly slow speed Elsa's wrist was moving. Elsa was only going slower, eyes commanding, and Anna's ablaze.

"I do," she says, and it's true. "I love you."

"And him."

Anna bows her head. "And him," she says, and it's true.

Elsa's hand retreats. Both return to push Anna back, guiding her down to the mattress with polite detachment. "I shouldn't feel jealous of him," Elsa says. She's the ice queen all over again, the one Anna first met all those years ago. She's receding into herself at a speed faster than Anna can process, but she can't stop it. "I made my choices, yet I still make love to his wife like it's what was expected."

Anna gapes. "It _was_ expected. I love you."

Elsa's brows arch high. She's regal and all sorts of sinister sex appeal. "You expected to cheat on your husband? I expected to betray my brother's trust? To corrupt his marriage?"

Anna makes herself look small. Under that gaze, it's all she can do. She'd rather bolt than heed the call of that power. "I don't think it would have mattered if he and I got married or not," she says carefully. "I'd always come back here. To you."

Maybe she really did unconsciously plan this entire ordeal. She speaks with her heart. She trusts it far more than she should. And when it speaks, it's with a megaphone. (A blessing and a curse in all the predictable ways.)

"But you don't want to hurt him."

"Do you?"

"In light of where we are, I'd say that choice has already been made whether we intended it or not."

It's hard to argue with such cold logic. Anna used to find that her optimism leveled out Elsa's realism in the past, but now she's coming to realize that things aren't as decidedly simple as she wants to make them. She wants to put certain things in certain boxes with certain labels and certain expectations. She wants to smile because she's happy, not because of forced circumstances. Yet she goes home to Kristoff every night with a painted grin—there's truth layered beneath, but he doesn't know it.

"I hate this," she says. Her tears have run dry and all she's left with is an outlook she created. "I hate… I hate _cheating_ on him and I hate _wanting_ you."

Elsa's faraway. "Did you ever want him?" She cocks her head in Anna's direction, almost smirking. The pain in her eyes is real, Anna can see that. Elsa didn't want to ask that question, but something forced her to do it. Confirmation. _Would you give him up for me?_

Anna maneuvers it around in her mind. There's no box for this. Love and duty and loyalty don't have boxes. They're interwoven and have consequences that last generations. Desire doesn't have a fucking box. It's consuming—raw, real.

And she can't lie. Honesty's pooling in her throat, and it's almost ironic she chooses to be truthful with the one person she shouldn't. "At first." She waits, breathing in air like it's lead. "Then I saw you."

Elsa's on her without any further conversation.

Teeth gnash with anticipation to get closer, bodies crashing together with intent to become a singular thing. Anna's used to Elsa being thoughtful in bed. She's come to expect it. But this is _wild_. Elsa takes, and Anna lets herself be taken.

No guilt or shame. No thinking too hard or this and that and him and her. Just them, moving, driven by passion and guided by love. There's not an inch of skin Elsa's mouth doesn't peruse. She's tasting, marking, rediscovering places she knows will take Anna higher than ever. The air constricts in Anna's throat as she tries to gasp, but all she can do is feel. She's choked by Elsa's presence and affection, unable to think or reciprocate.

"You're going to regret this when we're through," Elsa says hoarsely. "I know you will and it's eating me alive. I love you and it's _not_ _enough_." Her teeth bite into Anna's shoulder, and Anna can't take back the scream that rips out of her throat. "_It's never going to be enough_."

She's crying. Anna's helpless.

"Stop," Anna says, "stop."

Elsa yanks herself away, horrified, but Anna doesn't give her time to think about it. She pushes insistent lips to Elsa's, taking control of the kiss, demanding the other woman's desire. She pants between kisses, trying to make Elsa understand. "I'm always going to feel guilty." She sinks her teeth into Elsa's lower lip. "I'm always going to regret what we're doing—what we've done." Her tongue sweeps away the hurt. "But I'm not going stop loving you."

She pulls back an inch, blinking up into eyes that make her knees weak. She raises her hand to brush away some of Elsa's messy hair. "That doesn't mean I regret my time with Kristoff either." Her head is much clearer now, but with Elsa's breath upon her mouth, she wants nothing more than to return them to hot comfort. "I don't regret my son or my life or him. I'd make the same choices over again if I had the chance."

Their foreheads rest against one another in an unconscious gesture. Anna's content, if for a moment, and immerses herself in Elsa's mouth.

She's surprised at her gall. Enlightened, too, because those were things she hadn't even admitted to herself yet. She was too busy contemplating the ugliness of the situation and outlining the constancy. The husband, the son, the dog—those all get boxes. _  
><em>

Elsa's larger than life. She's far-reaching, wispy connectors. She burns away all of Anna's sense but it feels good. It's selfish and so, so good.

Anna's heartless. It hurts. Elsa balms the wound. She patches the scrapes and closes the hideous cavity opened in the heat of the moment. She kisses at the scars and mourns the burns she's created.

"Are we only meant for this?" Elsa asks. "Running?"

Anna swallows the lump in her throat. "What do you want from me?"

"Home. Life. Whatever you'll give me." _Whatever's left_.

A life with Elsa? With sated mornings, domestic afternoons, sensuous nights. With security; doubtless, unending security. Elsa's love is potent—it transcends years, burning and heightening. There wouldn't be a lack of love. Elsa would treat her right, just like she always has. Anna considers this possibility, finding it all more appealing with each passing second. But there's always dark thoughts around the corner. _Custody arrangements, divorce filings, emotional collapse. _The fabric of her family—the one she shared with Kristoff—would end. There wouldn't be any more stitches in that particular quilt. The thread would wear and thin until nothing was left.

"You can't ask me that."

Elsa looks annoyed. Hurt. "I _can_. Have we not already fucked up enough of each other's lives, Anna? You can't keep this from him and neither can I." She gestures between them, their nakedness a sudden factor that Anna had conveniently forgotten. She wants to curl into herself and disappear from reality. "And you won't. You're too good for that."

"Good?" Anna demands. "I'm having an affair with my husband's _sister_! That's not good! That's_—_that's_ wrong_ and obscene and... and everything else!"

Elsa's eyes soften. "Anna—"

"No! We don't deserve happiness, Elsa. Look at what we've done. I end things with Kristoff just to move on with you the minute everything's notarized?"

"You know that I didn't mean that."

Anna's anger extinguishes like someone scrubbed out a match. "I know... I—I know."

Elsa crooks a finger at her, and Anna falls into strong arms like she's a child all over again. "I'm always going to wait for you, Anna," Elsa says. "I love you so much... that I can't watch you walk away. I won't."

Anna forms the words in her mouth, but they're like cotton.

"We're meant for running."


	3. Escapism

Part 2 continued.

* * *

><p>"Coffee?"<p>

Anna looks up from her folded arms, nodding wearily. She's tired in all manners that there are. She's perched up at her in-laws' kitchen counter, watching Elsa prepare this and that. They haven't said much; they usually don't outside of the bedroom, after all. Anna shouldn't want for more than that, but she's staring at Elsa now with words sitting at the tip of her tongue and no courage to voice them.

Elsa sets a mug in front of her. "Are you ever going to stop staring at me?"

She wrinkles her nose. "I was not," she protests, unsure of why she's lying but does it anyway. "Staring off into space and having my eyes _coincidentally_ land on you isn't staring."

"You stare at me all the time." Elsa smiles a little, pitching one eyebrow up her forehead. "Why lie?"

_Because it makes me feel like less of a piece of shit? Or something?_

She looks down at the mug and the billowing steam coming from it. It's easier to tell Elsa something like that without looking at her. It's funny in a sad sort of way—that she detests lying to Elsa. That it's hard to lie to her when Anna looks into those eyes. Elsa's eyes are always so incredibly responsive, so alive. It feels like she's taking a hit to the chin whenever she has to lie to them.

Elsa tips up Anna's jaw. She's forcing the conversation, forcing the confrontation. "Why lie, Anna?"

She jerks her head away. "Elsa, I don't want to do this." She can't take the guilt when presented with it so readily. Elsa forces her to see with her presence alone, and it's something Anna isn't sure she can face quite yet. She can't define what this is when it's already so complicated. But it shouldn't be, because she can daydream like it's nothing at all as long as her gaze lands on Elsa. She can think of futures and joy, but it comes with a hefty price.

She can look at Elsa and see regret and pain, too.

"Then when do you want to, Anna?" Elsa asks, bracing her elbows on the counter top and leaning against the cabinets. The distance between them is little. A few inches forward and they could kiss if they wanted to. Elsa's cocks her head to the side, perhaps thinking along those same lines. "It's not going to go away just because you ignore it."

Anna's ire rises. "Stop trying to justify an argument just because I looked at you too long."

"I'm not trying to justify an argument, Anna. I want to talk to you."

"But I don't!" Anna says sharply. "Didn't we talk enough in there? And did anything get resolved?" She's being unfair but she isn't sure why. She's aiming to hurt and she can't pull her punches. It's tumbling out in raw, inarticulate bursts. "We're _fucked_. I made a mistake, you made a mistake. That's all this is."

She doesn't know where this aggression is coming from. She's suddenly so goddamn angry at herself and Elsa and all that they've done. "I can tell you that I love you and it's true, Elsa, please don't misunderstand that. _Please_. But I can't sit here and talk to you like nothing happened because that's bullshit." She gestures between them. "This? This isn't okay."

"And screwing each other is?" Elsa demands. "We can fuck but we can't talk? Just because I'm _doing_ you means I'm not privy to any other side of you? How is that fair?"

"It doesn't have to be fair!" It's selfish. It's selfish and it's pouring out of her and she can't stop it. "I don't make the rules, Elsa. There—there aren't any rules."

Elsa laughs and it's so unbelievably cold. "So you get both. You get Kristoff's emotional stability and my physicality. And I get the husk of whatever the fuck is left. He's lucky to have you."

Elsa might as well have slapped her.

She's sputtering, both in mind and motor control. She can't fathom—can't _believe_—the words being tossed between them like grenades. And she knows (_god, she knows_) that she's done plenty of damage to incite such a response from Elsa. It's blasphemy, she thinks, that she's pushed Elsa far enough to insult her in such a way. What's worse is that Elsa doesn't mean it. Not really. Because she's too incensed. Elsa would sooner cut off one of her own appendages than dig into Anna like this on a clear head.

Anna knows when she's gone too far. (At least in some respects; carnal desire is something she gave up fighting against, seeing as their affair was still ongoing—and happened in the first place.)

"I look at you and I feel like a failure," she says quietly.

Elsa's impending tirade snuffs out, her eyes wide with astonishment. She had been expecting another retort, another blow-up, hadn't she? Anna reaches to clasp Elsa's hand, rubbing her thumb soothingly across Elsa's whitened knuckles.

"You said you'd make the same choices if given the chance."

Anna nods. "And I would. Olaf is… the love of my life, even if I don't deserve him. But I feel like I missed opportunities. Other chances with you. We didn't speak to each other for how many years, Elsa?"

"Five."

"Five, Elsa. Almost as old as Olaf is. Don't you think we missed out on a lot of time? Together?"

Elsa gently pulls her hand away. Anna swallows her disapproval and rejection. Just another hit to the chin, isn't it? "I couldn't be around you. And him. It's still difficult."

Anna gnaws on her lip. She knows "_him_" isn't Olaf. "He's my husband." It's a weak rebuttal. She inwardly groans.

Elsa levels her with a glare. "And yet you're here."

Fair enough.

"I'm not… getting something. From him. There's a missing piece and I can't figure out what it is. I go home to him and make excuses to get out of talking to him." She shrugs, miserable. "I shouldn't want to do that, y'know? It doesn't make sense. And then I'm with you and it's there—that something."

Elsa purses her lips. "I know better than to assume I'm not your escape, but I draw the line at being your therapist." She cups Anna's jaw, padding a thumb over a pliant mouth. Anna kisses Elsa's thumb slowly, reverently. She watches Elsa's eyes drift from hers and down to a point of interest.

"It isn't like this with him," she says softly. "He can't make me feel like you do."

Elsa's smile looks painful. "It's tiring to keep up this charade with you."

Anna wilts, stung. She really ought to have expected something like this. Focusing on herself, her guilt, her life. There was little room for much else, though she had never considered the possibility. It's not as if Elsa is immune to hurt, immune to Anna's blatant dismissals. Though both relinquished their feelings and were owed what became of their affair, they're still human. That's what got them into this situation in the first place.

And Anna forgot. She ignored what was right in front of her in favor of herself. Elsa agonizes over this just as much as she does. She can see it now in how the grievance weighs heavily on Elsa's shoulders. She's less of herself. She puts up a front just like Anna does, and it isn't any less significant just because she's dragging fewer people through the mud with her.

"I'm sorry," she says, feeling small. She glances toward the ground, hoping beyond hope that it'll swallow her to mask the shame she feels. "I got caught up in me. I didn't think of you."

Elsa nods. "He's my brother, Anna. I'd feel just as awful if he were someone different, but this is too complicated. Cheating with my little brother's wife isn't the same as someone's girlfriend at a bar." She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling at it anxiously. "It makes me feel like such a terrible person, so much so that I barely sleep at night. I can't stop thinking about it. You, me, everyone involved…"

"Too complicated," Anna echoes.

"It'll never go away," Elsa says sagely. "We can't cover this up and you can't live with the guilt. He'll know eventually. What will you do when he does?"

She doesn't know. She sips on her coffee to keep herself busy.

"I don't want to lose him." Her heart is low, bogged down with grief. She can't imagine her world differently anymore; there was a set routine she allowed in her life. Kristoff was a part of that, but she lost him along the way. She loved him early, fed his ambition, revelled in their intimacy. But meeting his sister, meeting Elsa—it changed her. The desire they had cultivated wavered the moment she set her eyes on Kristoff's older sister. Something (some_one_) drummed a new beat in her chest, and when Elsa disappeared from their lives, it was easy to take solace in Kristoff. She and Elsa never became anything more than casual friends, but the mystique was always there in how Elsa looked at her. Kristoff built her back up, mended a heart she hadn't realized was broken, and she forgot about Elsa's lovely eyes for a time.

She looks up. Elsa's there, meeting her. They're not friends anymore, not since the moment Elsa walked back into her life. Her feelings—long dormant—had arisen with impressive potency. The second they'd been alone together after Elsa's return, she'd lost control. She's attempting to control it now, that fire. It's burned her before, though slowly. She didn't know what it was back then. She knows now.

"But you… I don't _want_ to lose Kristoff, but I _can't_ lose you."

She's said it. The distinction is clear. She's admitted it to Elsa and herself. The words are heavy between them, and Anna can't bear to look at Elsa while the other woman mulls over this bombshell. Her face heats up with a furious blush, and she's more than annoyed over the fact that Elsa's turned her into a sputtering teenager all over again.

Elsa smiles at her, genuine and loving all at once. She finds herself returning it, sweeping Elsa into an embrace overtop the counter. "You won't lose me," Elsa murmurs. "I promise." Her fingers dance along Anna's tensed back, teasing away the knots formed from agitation. "And I won't lose you."

Anna nods mutely into Elsa's shoulder. She can't bring herself to choke out the words—she's too overcome. But Elsa knows, and that's what she keeps in her mind and in the throbbing organ in her chest. Elsa knows.

"I'll tell him, Elsa. I swear I will."

Elsa kisses her firmly and with intent. It's probably not purposeful when Anna gasps into the kiss, moved by Elsa's affection, by her touch. She can't help herself, can't stop herself from indulging in Elsa's willing mouth. Elsa urges her from her seat, edging her around the counter to press their chests together.

Elsa sighs against her lips. "I love you. So much, Anna."

She's warm all over. Engulfed. Elsa's everywhere and all around her. She's moved by the sincerity of Elsa's words. There's never been a time in her life before this moment that has left her so thoroughly loved. Elsa loves with all that she is; she throws herself into it, willing to give and receive because it's _right_. Her capacity for that sort of dedication and acceptance was seemingly unending.

She drops feather-light kisses on Elsa's mouth, smiling through it, remembering her errors and stumbles and being somewhat thankful for them. _Acceptance_ is key. She accepts what she's done, but she's not going to miss another moment of _this_. She doesn't want to trample on anybody's heart, but she won't neglect her happiness anymore. She's lied to herself (and others) long enough.

"Anna?"

The couple spins, red-faced. Kristoff's there, of course. He'd probably been there for a long time.

She's cold.


	4. Innocence

Interlude.

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>fuck<em>."

Anna's arching skyward, hands trying to find purchase. Nails scrabble against wood, against pale flesh and silky hair. She's out of her mind with pleasure and relief. This is the long-awaited, painful reunion she never anticipated happening. She's thrown for a far bigger loop than she ever could have imagined. Sure, she's _wanted_. That had recently come to light, but the depth of that wanting was never truly explored. She hadn't realize what she'd been missing until this moment.

"Don't stop."

Her shoulders knock up against the door loudly, and she's far too consumed to care about it. She can't find herself, and she's not certain if she even wants to. She can't think of much else besides the hot tongue inside her, and she's not going to mourn over that anytime soon. Her hands find purchase in Elsa's hair, digging just enough to incite a growl from Elsa's throat. It vibrates through her, drawing out a moan she ought to be ashamed of. It's needy and all sorts of embarrassing, but it's out there and she's not dwelling on it.

"Come here," she demands, breathing like she's ran a marathon. "Up. Now."

Elsa complies, sliding Anna's thighs from her shoulders to slither her lips up a writhing body. Her fingers tap gently over Anna's mouth, dipping just enough for Anna to feel compelled to suck on the digits. "Yes?" Elsa asks, eyes dark.

Anna loses her composure briefly, trapped in Elsa's gaze and the purse of her mouth. It shouldn't feel like this. She's awash with emotions that she never contemplated having, yet they aren't entirely unwanted. But there's something in how Elsa looks down at her, something she desires like it's the breath in her lungs and the beat in her heart. She's overcome with this and that, of what she should be doing and what she shouldn't. But Elsa's here, and she wasn't before.

That's what matters, she thinks.

"You're…" She falters, words caught in her throat when Elsa's head cocks to the side, measuring her. Listening.

Elsa smiles slowly, crookedly. "You said not to stop, and yet…"

She finds her head jerking up and down of its own accord. "That's the problem. I don't want you to stop. Not for anything." She blushes, mortified at her gall. _What the fuck? Do you even know what you're doing? __  
><em>

Elsa leans against her, her smile melting against Anna's frown. She tries not to sigh at the contact, and she supposes it's good that she _did_ try. That meant something, after all. But Elsa doesn't seem too concerned with the errant, anxious thoughts darting through every corner of Anna's mind. She's pressed up against Anna, all skin and nothing in between. It's therapeutic and comforting, and Anna soaks it up like Elsa's the sun and giving her life.

She cups Elsa's jaw, holding it in her trembling hands. There's something incredibly simple about human contact, especially with the secret object of her affection. She substitutes with Kristoff, and it took her far too long to realize that's been what she was doing all along. She doesn't understand why Elsa feels better on her naked skin than Kristoff. The weight is different, as is the texture, but the intent is… off.

Elsa _craves_ her.

She brings their mouths together, eager to give. It doesn't matter much, seeing as Elsa has dominated this encounter with everything that she is. Anna doesn't mind. She lets Elsa take, even welcomes it. She's just happy that Elsa's finally in her arms.

"I missed you," she says. She doesn't need to say much more than that. She doesn't have the strength to offer Elsa anything but the easy truth. She missed Elsa when her throat was screamed hoarse and her own fingers pressed desperately between her legs. She missed Elsa when she hadn't even known something had been taken from her. Unwillingly.

Elsa breaks free from their soft embrace, pulling back enough to hit the circle of Anna's arms. She's too far away—enough so that Anna misses her even now. Elsa kisses the line of Anna's jaw, her chin and nose, on each eyelid fluttered shut with overwhelming emotion. She isn't sure how she feels so inexplicably happy and yet rubbed raw. She wonders if this is how Elsa felt for years.

"Did you?" Elsa asks, the curiosity and barely-there disbelief apparent. Anna presses her face into the column of Elsa's throat, tracing the bridge of her nose across the smooth skin she finds there. She mulls Elsa's words over, breathing the other woman in.

Anna nods, enjoying how Elsa shivers in response. "You were gone for so long. You never responded to any of us attempting to contact you. I thought you shut us out for good." She shrugs helplessly. "It sunk in then, I guess—that I'd never get to see you again. I wanted to know why it hurt so badly."

Elsa drops a kiss on Anna's forehead in a silent apology. Anna wants to assure Elsa that there is no need; Elsa didn't do anything wrong then and hasn't now (besides the glaringly obvious affair), but continues all the same. One thing at a time.

"And I… thought about it. For a long time, actually. Unrequited _lo_—feelings. That's what it was. I wanted things to make sense. And they didn't, at least not for awhile. Everything… stopped. I thought of you all the time, about how you might like a particular trinket or how you'd smile whenever I did this or that. It added up in the end."

She leans back slightly to capture Elsa's eyes, to implore her sincerity. "I missed you so much," she says. "I felt like such a moron for not realizing it sooner. For not realizing it sooner and not acting like I should have."

Elsa wets her lips. Anna can't help it when it draws her attention, and she wants to take hold of them all over again. "How do you do that?" Elsa asks. "How do you act upon something like this?"

Anna shrugs, the guilt rearing its head quite suddenly. "I don't know."

It's true.

But Elsa smiles, her expression and the fire in her eyes devoid of deeper consequences. Anna greedily adopts it in herself, eager to forget what she shouldn't. She doesn't care. That's for later, when she's alone and all the world is crashing around her. All she wants is peace. Elsa offers that peace.

"I missed you, too," Elsa says. "I'm sorry, but I had to get away. It made sense at the time."

Anna doesn't pry. She isn't sure if Elsa would appreciate it, and she's not ready to accept the magnitude if it's what she thinks it is. She can't entertain that idea yet. She just wants to indulge in what she's denied herself for so long.

Damn the rest.

* * *

><p>"Anna! Anna, Elsa's back!"<p>

She cringes, wiping the mask off her face the moment she turns to receive Kristoff's exuberant hug. He lifts her off the ground, his mouth fit to split at each edge with how wide he's smiling. "She hasn't said where she's been, but she stopped at my parents' house this morning."

Anna pushes herself back, trying in vain to stop the comparison between his broad shoulders and Elsa's willowy ones. It feels dirty to think of her while in Kristoff's embrace, but it comes without prior thought. It's there, just like Elsa is.

"That's great, sweetheart," she says, and it is. She'd been half-expecting Elsa to slip away without any further communication, the same (or lack of) that extended to her family. She's glad Elsa decided not to cut and run.

She's closer this way. It's both debilitating and freeing.

Kristoff sets her down, but still holds onto her arms like lifelines. "We're having dinner tonight. With them. I know Elsa was a little standoff-ish in the past, but will you lay on the charm? She probably doesn't know what to say to us—my parents and I. You can get her to come out of her shell."

Anna's smile is full of regret and dark amusement. "Yeah… I can—I can do that."

Kristoff doesn't notice. "And Olaf can meet her for the first time," he says thoughtfully. "I think it might mellow her out. Just a little, at least."

At that, her good humor fades just as easily as it came. She isn't sure why she doesn't want Elsa and Olaf to meet. It feels… _wrong_. Somehow. Like she's gone behind Elsa's back, but in reality Elsa's the one she's turned to. She glances at Kristoff and his animated happiness and can't help but feel sick to her stomach.

"He'll love her," she says, biting back words that want to crawl up her throat. _No, not now_. "It will be nice for him to put a face to the name."

Kristoff grins.

She returns it.

She aches inside.

* * *

><p>From Kristoff's side, Anna feels like the smallest person in the world. They've stepped into the foyer of his parents' home, their son jawing happily to his grandparents. Kristoff's shaking his hair out to rid it of snow, and she stands awkwardly beside him, wringing her hands together as she's pelted with snow and moisture, courtesy of her husband.<p>

"Where is she?" Kristoff asks, winking at Anna and brushing some of the snow off her shoulders. "She's not hiding from me, is she?"

Elsa slips around the corner, smiling gently at her brother. She gives a small wave. "Present, Kristoff."

The reunion of brother and sister is one that pricks tears at Anna's eyes. It's such a shame, really, because Elsa and Kristoff _love_ each other so much. They're hugging, the affection palpable from where Anna stands, yet she can do nothing but imagine a world where they hate one another. Because of the choices she and Elsa make, that could become a reality.

She clutches at the fabric of her shirt where her heart is. She's got half a mind to tear it, to prove that something is tragic and full of substance. It's unfair. It's her fault.

Idun and Adgar approach, welcoming her into a warm, familial embrace. She clutches at them, feeling their joy and being unable to reciprocate it. Instead, she practically leeches their touch, at the contact. She needs someone to hold onto. She needs someone to ground her.

They hug her and know nothing. Perhaps it's better this way.

They separate, Anna wiping surreptitiously at her eyes. She takes tentative steps in Elsa's direction, each footfall a lie. _Pretend you're nothing more than acquaintances. Forget everything else, because right now, you're nothing to one another. You're not missing her lips or her smile or her laugh. You're not in love. You're just in-laws._

Sisters. By blood or by marriage, that's what Kristoff and Idun and Adgar expect. Nothing more.

She takes Elsa into her arms with care, like Elsa's fragile glass that could crack under her fingers. "It's nice to see you again," she says, pressing a kiss to Elsa's cheek. "We missed you."

Elsa returns the gesture, smiling ever so tightly. _Do you remember what I said? That I missed you? The "we" isn't hard to forget._"Thank you, Anna." She bends down slightly, extending a hand to the little boy hiding behind one of Anna's legs.

"Hello," she says softly, and it's with such tenderness that Anna has to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying. Olaf peers around her leg with curious, shy intent. But Elsa beckons him kindly, and it dredges up something primal and raw in Anna's chest. She's struck, quite suddenly, by how similar they are in appearance. It catches in her throat and all she wants to do is bury her head in Kristoff's coat and forget it.

Olaf steps in front of his aunt, looking down at his shoes like they're the most interesting things he's ever seen. "Hi," he says quietly, his usual bravado lost when presented with this beautiful stranger whom he so incredibly resembles.

Elsa takes his hands with extreme care, as if he's a spooked animal. "I'm Elsa. It's nice to meet you, Olaf."

The boy nods, finding the strength to gaze up into eyes his own mother so readily falls into. He smiles, crooked and familiar. "You, too!"

Elsa rises to her full height, zeroing in on Anna with a knowing smile.

"It's good to be back."


End file.
